


i tied a rope around [his] waist

by submergedmemory



Series: Love Is Like Music [7]
Category: Dungeons and Daddies (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Glenn Close, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Japanese Rope Bondage, Kinbaku, Light BDSM, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Pre-Canon, Shibari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:47:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29140266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/submergedmemory/pseuds/submergedmemory
Summary: “ Let's call it… a test of your concentration.”Morgan helps Glenn focus using an unconventional method.
Relationships: Glenn Close/Morgan Freeman (Dungeons and Daddies)
Series: Love Is Like Music [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1708477
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	i tied a rope around [his] waist

**Author's Note:**

> introducing your asexual boyfriend to a non-sexual form of bondage is big dick energy right

—

  
“I have an idea that might help,” Freeman had said, after Glenn had vented his frustrations about the Trio’s frustrations with him to her one night.

“Let's call it… a test of your concentration. Or focus.”

It was a risk, wearing something so… _personal_ in public, and Glenn could admit, to himself and to her, that he had been nervous, even with her assurances. All of that had been laid to rest as Morgan helped him undress that morning in her tiny linoleum covered bathroom, rubbing her hands on his shoulders and down his arms reassuringly before carefully lifting up his shirt over his head, kneeling down to remove his lounge pants. She smiled slightly when she saw the boxer briefs he was wearing -- uncharacteristic for Glenn -- but she did not comment on it and she made no move to take them off before standing again to begin the real work.

Freeman’s studio was cold, was always very cold, but the shiver that ran through Glenn and the goosebumps prickling across his skin almost certainly had nothing to do with the frigid temperature as Glenn watched Morgan turn her attention, her slow and methodical and feather-light touches, to the task at hand, settling rope into place over and around Glenn’s willing form, around his chest, down his stomach, the join right where thigh met groin (and how hard Glenn had blushed at _that_ ), twining up and over itself, shaping and forming into delicate spiderwebs under her sure and steady hands.

“Not too tight? Nothing hurting?” Morgan asked him as she tightened the last knot, running callused fingers under the rope to test for it herself. Glenn had nodded distractedly, mesmerized and fascinated by the blurry image of his reflection looking at him in the mirror.

The ropes felt -- not even _odd_ . Certainly not _bad_. Just a presence, making itself known with his every movement, and were a soft, elegant shade of lavender -- “it suits you, magpie” -- and the color had not shown when Morgan had helped him into the clothes she had laid out for him -- a pair of dark wash jeans that Glenn had thought he had lost somewhere and a jewel-tone blue button down that she fastened all the way up. When Morgan held his leather jacket open for Glenn and settled it over his shoulders, the knots disappeared from touch as well. A secret, just for them.

“This type of shirt suits you, too,” Morgan said casually, smoothing the last of the invisible wrinkles on Glenn’s front, and Glenn paused, mid-motion, in the act of clumsily shoving his glasses onto his face. “Y-yeah?”

Morgan nodded as she tucked a stray lock of hair behind Glenn’s ear. “Yeah.” She stood back, straightening the lapels of Glenn’s jacket, and Glenn watched her watching the motions of her hands, traveling up to his shoulders and slowly sliding down his arms until they gently but firmly grasped his wrists -- a warning, in another circumstance; in this moment, a reassurance. She held him like that, her strong, hard hand tightening ever-so-slightly, just for a moment, before letting go, reaching for the glasses hanging loosely in his grasp and carefully placing them on his face. Morgan’s eyes met his, dark and mesmerizing. “Beautiful,” she said simply. Glenn knew she wasn’t talking about his clothes.

—

It was one of Freeman’s rare days off, and she promised to meet Glenn once his band practice was done, sometime that afternoon.

“Let’s start small,” Freeman said lightly, a thoughtful finger on her lips, “If you can keep your cool for that whole entire rehearsal, I’ll reward you with something real nice.”

Glenn swallowed, feeling the heat in his face rise up to his ears, and said, as cool and blase as he could manage, “And how will you know if I have or haven’t?”

“I’ll know,” Freeman said, and nothing more.

So Glenn did, or at least he tried. He ignored Minerva and Scott’s declarations of shock at his surprising punctuality, their sardonic bemusement as Glenn ignored his usual routine of ignoring their planned setup, of noodling aimlessly on his guitar for the better part of their studio time, or insisting on off-the-cuff quips instead of practicing their precisely planned banter.

Glenn ignored all that, too hyper-aware of nothing except the slide of rope against him every time he took a breath, the little prickle of friction he felt each time he transferred his weight from one leg to the other, or lifted his arms to adjust his guitar strap on or off his chest.

He only gave in and touched the harness once, when a particularly well-aimed barb from Scott had Glenn’s eye twitching and the flare-up of his temper barely contained. Instead, he had called for a ten minute break, _calmly_ , and locked himself in the bathroom before anyone else could get on his last nerve.

Glenn had slipped off his jacket, then his shirt, and stared at the bindings hugging him, touched it, hesitant, to feel the texture of the rope, plucked at it delicately from the front and marveled at the feeling of the corresponding twitch cascading down his back. A secret, just for them. If he pretended hard enough, he could convince himself that Morgan was there, holding him, laying a solid, steadying hand on his back. Glenn stopped touching the ropes and slipped his shirt, then his jacket, back on.

He got used to it, a little, with that comforting thought in his head, as the band ran through their set list one more time, adjusted their stage positions for maximum drama and flair, and planned his and Scott’s practice for backing vocals in the next few days, and their next full band rehearsal for the following week. “Good job, everyone,” Glenn had declared as he loaded his amp and the bag of cables and pedals and microphones into Mineva’s van, and neither of the other two had even sounded sarcastic when they parroted the sentiment back at him.

The van zoomed away into the busy traffic of the city, and Glenn didn’t have to wait long before Freeman arrived at the recording space, as cool and refined as ever. “You good, Close,” Freeman asked as she approached, her tone light and airy, and before Glenn could even blink she was by Glenn’s side, her hand on his. 

Glenn shrugged, and the motion made him very aware of the elaborate tangle he was wearing under his clothing once again. His other hand gripped the handle of his guitar case tight. “Yeah, not bad,” he managed, surprised at how casual he managed to sound.

Morgan nodded. She tugged on Glenn’s hand, gently, and they began to walk. “Focus alright?

“Yeah, we got a lot done.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Morgan squeezed his hand, not hard, just enough to feel the ghost of her touch when she let go, before sliding it onto the small of his back, and with anyone else, Glenn would have pulled away in disgust and rage, or froze from the sheer audacity and done nothing at all. But it _wasn’t_ anyone else, it was Morgan, so Glenn didn’t do any of that -- just gasped, a soft, stunned, “oh!” of surprise while he tried to calm the fluttering in his chest.

Morgan hummed, staring at Glenn, her dark eyes pensive, her hand on him exactly the solid, steadying presence he had imagined it to be earlier that day.

“Let’s go back to my place, Close,” she said, eventually, and Glenn nodded. He didn’t need to be told twice.

\--

The two of them decided to save their subway fare for another time and made their way back to Morgan’s studio on foot, and by the time the apartment complex was in sight, the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon. Still, Morgan took her time settling in, double locking the door behind her, bending down to carefully unlace and remove her Docs before placing them neatly on the shoe rack, flicking the lamp on by her bed and drawing the drapes over the windows before finally settling into the loveseat with a sigh. She turned her eyes over to Glenn, still standing by the door.

“Come here, magpie. I want to see you.”

It wasn’t a request, and Glenn wasn’t feeling inclined to argue, as he settled his guitar case on the floor with a thud and kicked off his chelsea boots, clumsily dropping them onto the shoe rack as an afterthought.

Undressing for Morgan in her living room -- slowly, carefully, as Morgan instructed -- had ended up feeling far less perfunctory than he had intended, and far more surreal -- at least, not any more surreal than having Morgan strip him naked before sticking him into an elaborate bondage setup in her bathroom, anyway. Once Glenn had shed all of his outer layers and stood bare before her, Morgan beckoned him closer, looking him all over again, just as she did that morning, reaching up to run her fingers under the ropes to check the state of his skin.

“Beautiful,” Morgan said again, running her hands, gentle and delicate, over his body, bared before her.

And maybe Glenn should’ve felt shy and awkward about being appraised in such a shameless, unabashed way, or maybe he should’ve felt nothing at all, having heard the way strangers liked to talk about him when they knew he could hear, or maybe he should’ve felt angry and humiliated, having heard the way strangers talked about him when they _didn’t_ know he could hear. Maybe Glenn should’ve felt any or all of those things, but he didn’t. Glenn only felt proud and beautiful, just like she said, and he could feel himself preening, holding himself tall before her attentive, admiring gaze.

“Nothing hurt, I hope,” she continued, and Glenn watched her watching the motions of her wandering hands travelling down the smooth plane of his belly, stopping right at the waistband of his boxer briefs. She glanced up at Glenn, expectant.

Glenn swallowed. “No, not at all.” As far as he could see, and as far as he could feel, the only physical reminder he would have to show for the whole experience were a lot of weird geometric crease lines, and those would fade with time, like when he fell asleep under the counter at the cafe and had woken up with the impression of the keypad of the label maker pressed into his face. At least the web of diamonds imprinted on his body now were a lot more aesthetically pleasing than the grid of squares on his cheek then.

It helped that only one person could see his body in this state, and she was looking at him with a gentle fondness that had an affection of his own warming his body in spite of the chill. “I didn’t look… it didn’t look like something was up with me, right?”

Morgan hummed thoughtfully. “You held yourself differently. Taller. A little more carefully. But nothing too egregious that would give yourself away. You looked good.” She traced her finger over the waistband of his underwear. It had been a weird impulsive thought, to put them on the night before instead of going without as Glenn usually did, but the insurance of the extra layer of fabric had been a rare smart decision, especially when he didn't know what to expect of his body's reaction to the new stimulus. “Did _you_ think you gave yourself away,” Morgan asked, holding her hands on his waist -- not gripping hard or digging her nails in or anything, just simply resting her hands there, like it was the most perfectly natural place for her hands to be, and the feel of it is enough to bring Glenn's thoughts back to the present moment.

“No,” Glenn said, after some consideration. “I think it was exactly like you said. Unless you count actually getting shit done for once a dead giveaway.” Glenn paused. “’course, Scott is a self-centered asshole who’s high on his own supply. He probably thought _he_ had something to do with how productive we were. Man, I don’t think he would’ve noticed even if I was walking around with nothing but this on," he added, rolling his eyes and tugging at the ropes still holding him for emphasis.

Morgan's expression didn't change but her eyes seemed to shine with a renewed intensity. "Well. _There's_ an idea."

Morgan was teasing. She had to have been, or else she would have narrowed her gaze into a laser-precise stare, and pursed her lips in deep thought and consideration before suggesting such a wild and risky proposal. The certainty of this knowledge softened the brief initial panic that latched onto his heart, quelled into a lackadaisical, trembling sort of thrill -- a feeling that was itself a question for himself to consider at a later date, Glenn was sure.

"Something to consider for another time, maybe," Morgan said, as if reading his thoughts, as she watched the gamut of emotions slowly cross Glenn's rapidly reddening face. "I think for now, it's better if we keep this a secret. Just for us." She let go of Glenn's waist to grip his hands in her steadying hold. "But tell me honestly: how did you feel about today?"

"...took some time to get used to,” Glenn admitted, shrugging, marveling still at the way the knots and the lines of rope shifted with the smallest of movement. “I wasn’t sure how my body would react with it on. But,” he paused, struggling to form his jumble of feelings into meaningful sentiment. "I think I liked it. It reminded me of you. The feel of it on all day. I couldn't forget it," Glenn settled on.

Morgan smiled then, small but pleased and utterly delighted, and if he had been a red blushing mess before, he can't imagine what he looks like now, smiling a stupid, dopey smile as he stared down at their joined hands with sudden, intense fascination.

"So what was this about a reward, Freeman," Glenn asked, desperate for a change of subject. "You can't say I didn't keep my head in the game. None of us even screamed at each other like we usually do, so that's a win for the whole fucking Trio."

"My! You _have_ been good," Morgan said, amused, that slight smile still on her face and that mischievous sparkle in her eye again. “My little magpie wants to know right now?"

Morgan shifted her hold on Glenn, then, so that her strong, hard hands were encircling Glenn's wrists again. She tightened her grip enough for him to feel it: a warning, in another circumstance; in this moment, a promise.

Glenn met her eyes, dark and beautiful and utterly bewitching, without hesitation -- he had no place to go, and no other place he would rather be. "Show me," he said, confident and assured and just a little bit arrogant.

Morgan's smile widened.

  
—

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t actually know what morgan has planned for glenn use your imagination


End file.
